Something's Wrong With That Boy

By

Heidi Waleson

April 22, 2013 5:19 p.m. ET

Arlington, Va.

In "Paul's Case," given its world premiere on Saturday by the small company Urban Arias, the composer Gregory Spears combines minimalism, baroque gestures, and extended vocal techniques into a distinctive and pungent musical language. This haunting 90-minute work is based on a story by Willa Cather: Paul, a high-school boy with artistic and status yearnings beyond his middle-class life in 1906 Pittsburgh, steals money and goes to New York. He lives the high life in the Waldorf-Astoria for a few days, and when exposure is imminent throws himself under a train.

Paul's Case

Urban Arias

www.urbanarias.org

Through April 28

Mr. Spears and Kathryn Walat distilled the tale into a surreal fever dream, with other characters continually commenting on Paul's "case." Unlike many contemporary opera composers, Mr. Spears has a gift for writing ensembles, and they are original. In the powerful opening scene, as three female teachers and the school's principal try to articulate what disturbs them about Paul, short lines of text overlap, creating a tense, fragmented environment, like Cubism in sound. At the end of the first act, the three women announce the train that will take Paul to New York with an arresting vocalization that sounds like a train whistle. Humming, whistling, grace notes and vibrato-less singing are also used as color and texture throughout. The solo arias tend to have less punch than the ensembles, but the overall pacing is taut, the nine-piece orchestration vivid and the denouement appropriately wrenching.

Kevin Newbury's focused directing, Timothy R. Mackabee's set (a shiny black runway between two tiers of spectators, with the orchestra at one end and a bank of industrial lights above), and Amanda Seymour's period costumes evoked Paul's inner and outer lives. Tenor Jonathan Blalock captured Paul's arrogance and confusion; Amanda Crider, Erin Sanzero and Melissa Wimbish were splendid as the trio of women who haunt him; Keith Phares, James Shaffran and Michael Slattery made strong contributions. Robert Wood was the nimble conductor.

***

New York

For New York City Opera's final production of the season, at City Center, director Christopher Alden transformed the frothy soufflé of Jacques Offenbach's "La Périchole" into a leaden slog. This took some doing, since the musical elements were firmly in place. Conductor Emmanuel Plasson exuded operetta verve; Marie Lenormand, a real star, was adorable as the eponymous Peruvian street singer who agrees to be the mistress of the Viceroy of Peru in order to get a square meal; and tenor Philippe Talbot was delightful as Piquillo, her dolt of a boyfriend. Mezzo Naomi O'Connell made a standout debut as one of three supporting ladies, and the chorus was full of spirit.

ENLARGE

Marie Lenormand and Philippe Talbot in 'La Périchole.'
Carol Rosegg

La Périchole

New York City Opera

www.nycopera.com

Through April 27

But Mr. Alden got the proportions wrong, stretching out the dialogue (done in French instead of the more logical English for an American audience) and milking the stage gags and the physical comedy so that the songs became afterthoughts. Most annoying was the characterization of the Viceroy ( Kevin Burdette) as a mad, randy version of Borat. Mr. Burdette's spoken passages, done in a variety of voices and accents, became increasingly tedious; and after the first time or two, his convulsive physical mannerisms were no longer funny.

Paul Steinberg's set, a box in a dizzying all-over pattern of black, white and yellow tile, and Gabriel Berry's amusing costumes updated the piece from the 18th century to the present, and packed it with sight gags. Some were entertaining: Multicolored llama piñatas bobbed up and down during the Act I party scenes, and when Ms. Lenormand swung at them with a baseball bat, money rained down. Others were distracting: The imprisoned Piquillo had to sing a plaintive aria about his lost love while strapped into a recliner in front of an enormous television showing the action in the Viceroy's bedroom. The joke is that Piquillo turns away before La Périchole gets the upper hand, but the bit completely upstaged Mr. Talbot's affecting singing. It was the story of the show.

***

Brooklyn, N.Y.

William Christie and Les Arts Florissants, the gold standard in French baroque opera, brought Marc-Antoine Charpentier's "David et Jonathas" (1688) to the Brooklyn Academy of Music last weekend. Written to be performed between the acts of "Saul," a spoken play, "David et Jonathas" has no real action; its arias and choruses amplify the emotional states of the characters. Director Andreas Homoki created visual tension by updating the setting to the early 20th century and stressing the personal rather than the political story. The romantic love between the biblical figures David and Jonathan is explicit; their opponent is Saul, Jonathan's father.

It was puzzling to watch the Israelites and Philistines mingle onstage (the supposedly opposing groups were identifiable through costume designer Gideon Davey's fezzes, black hats and such), and the Philistine villain Joabel seemed to have his own homoerotic reason for making trouble for David. Paul Zoller's set, a pine box, expanded and contracted to symbolize the pressures at work. Mr. Homoki staged the orchestral dances and other interludes to create a backstory of childhood friendship for the two protagonists and the irrational roots of Saul's dislike. Chorus numbers were ingeniously integrated: For the pastoral chaconne in Act II, friends watched David and Jonathas play blindman's buff.

Pascal Charbonneau's high tenor and splendid diction heightened the confusion and vulnerability of David; the delicate soprano of Ana Quintans underscored Jonathas's youth and headlong devotion. Neal Davies was a nervy, paranoid Saul; Krešimir Špicer, a smooth, insinuating Joabel. As the witch conjured by Saul to predict the future (and costumed as his dead wife), Dominique Visse's high, pinched sound made Saul's nightmare especially present. Visually, the 17th century was miles away, but the chorus and orchestra, anchored by a formidable continuo group, shaped this glorious score with all the lyricism and transparency that one might wish.

This copy is for your personal, non-commercial use only. Distribution and use of this material are governed by our Subscriber Agreement and by copyright law. For non-personal use or to order multiple copies, please contact Dow Jones Reprints at 1-800-843-0008 or visit www.djreprints.com.